


Friends Don't Let Friends

by juice817, semaphoredrivethru



Series: Past Curfew [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-17
Updated: 2011-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-26 04:57:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juice817/pseuds/juice817, https://archiveofourown.org/users/semaphoredrivethru/pseuds/semaphoredrivethru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been six weeks since Bill sent Oliver off to the Hogwarts Express and his world, and there's a whole lot of brooding going on.  Fortunately for Bill and Oliver, they each have very good close friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friends Don't Let Friends

**Author's Note:**

> _Originally posted November 5, 2006_.

~~~*~~~  


Desert or not, Egypt still could get cold in the winter, and bitterly so at night, which was part of why Bill had chosen the flat he had, with its plain and boring Muggle fireplace. He liked having a fire at night now and then, especially on the evenings he didn't feel like going out to the clubs with his mates. Nights like tonight, in fact, when all he wanted was to sprawl on the floor, bottle of beer in his hand and stare blankly at the shadows on the ceiling after a long day. As wicked of a job as Curse Breaking was, sometimes it could be bloody well draining, too.

And his choice to stay in on this particular Friday night, just like the last few others, and one or two Saturdays as well, was only owing to the fact that for some reason he was starting to wonder if he was wasting his time with the pretty boys at the clubs and if maybe he'd just be better off without the partying. It had absolutely nothing to do with the pile of letters he kept locked in his desk here at home, or the fact that he was looking at his brothers' school schedules when he was supposed to be putting in for his next bit of vacation. Bill sighed and tipped the bottle towards his lips, grunting in annoyance when he found it empty. He rolled over and stood, barefoot and wearing just a pair of blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt, intent on getting another drink.

"Oi!" Nigel pounded on Bill's door and called through it, then charmed it open without waiting for Bill to respond. "Let's go, yeah?" Nigel stopped short just inside as he saw that Bill was clearly not dressed for clubbing. He slowly closed the door behind him. "Who are you, and what have you done with Bill Weasley?" he asked, arms folded and eyebrow raised.

Bill snorted and grinned at his friend. "Go without, Nige," he said. "I'm not in the mood tonight."

"Oh, come _on_ ," Nigel said, rolling his eyes. "Again? It's not the same without you, Bill." He smirked. "We can go to a kiddie club instead if you'd rather, I guess."

For that, Nigel got two fingers flipped at him. "Can't a bloke just want to stay in now and then? Don't you ever get tired of going every weekend? The crush of strange, bare bodies all around you?" He paused, listening to himself, and blinked. "Huh. Maybe I should see a Medi-Wizard."

"Not a bad idea," Nigel said agreeably. "Because a bloke now and then, yeah, but Bill Weasley every weekend? No. You _like_ the crush of strange, bare bodies all around you. A school, maybe? M'sure there's a quiet dorm to cruise somewhere between here and London." He put his hands in his pockets and ambled toward Bill. "We can find another brazen dark haired boy."

"One is plenty more than enough," Bill said before he thought about it, and then groaned at how it sounded. "Fucking hell. I'm getting another beer. Want one while you're listing all the boys' schools in the area for me, Nige?"

Nigel snorted and settled himself sprawled on the couch. "Sure, since we're obviously not actually _going_ anywhere. Again." He watched Bill get the beer and started casually making up school names, tossing them out carelessly in direct contradiction to the concern in his eyes.

Just about when Nigel got to _Balthazar's Bathhouse and School for Beautiful Boys with Big Bottoms_ , Bill came back into the room. Rolling his eyes, he handed over the already opened bottle. "Here you go," he said, shaking his head. "Prat." Bill settled on the floor, his back against an armchair, long slender legs stretched out in front of him. "You don't have to stay in with me, you know. I'm sure with me not there, you've got much better chances of getting a fuck, even."

Nigel kicked Bill's leg, not hard, but certainly with feeling. "I get a fuck often enough, thank you. Besides, can't a bloke just want to stay in now and then?" He lifted his bottle in a small toast to Bill, eyes dancing, before taking a healthy swallow.

"Yeah, sure," Bill said, grinning and sipping his own drink. He bent one leg at the knee, foot flat on the floor, and balanced his arm over it, looking at Nigel out of the corner of his eye. "I'm fine, mate," he said at last. "Just think I might have grown past the clubs, is all."

"Right." Nigel watched him silently for several seconds. "It has nothing to do with brazen dark haired boys." Nigel knew Bill pretty well, had been making the rounds of clubs nearly everywhere with him since they'd been green Curse Breakers learning goblin together, and this brooding was new. Used to be Bill was _always_ up for a good time and a joke and flaunting, a bit, his success everywhere they went. It frustrated Nigel frequently, not that he'd ever say so to Bill, but plain just couldn't compete with Weasley, and Nigel had long ago accepted it. Now, though... Nigel shook his head faintly.

"Oliver," Bill supplied softly. "And no, it's got nothing to do with him."

 _Oliver_? Both eyebrows went up and the bottle stopped halfway to Nigel's mouth. Well. Slowly, he finished putting the bottle to his lips and drank. There was something in Bill's voice. "Bill," Nigel finally said quietly, "it rather obviously does. He's a _kid_."

"I'd noticed," Bill said dryly. He leaned his head back. "But, as he's so quick to point out, he's old enough to fuck. He's also captain of the house Quidditch team." Sighing, Bill sat up again and took a long swig of beer. "M'wand's on the coffee table if you want to hex me."

Nigel choked on his swallow of beer. "Captain of the Quidditch team?" Nigel couldn't help it; he started to laugh. "You and those athletes."

Bill laughed and brushed his long red hair away from his face despite the chagrined look he had. "Yeah, so I've got a type. But you have to admit, there's just something about a bloke that takes care of himself."

"Yeah, can't argue that," Nigel said, "but Bill. The _house_ Quidditch team. As in, still in school. How old is he, anyway?"

"Sixteen," Bill sighed. "And three-quarters," he added with the air of someone who's been reminded frequently.

"God." Nigel leaned forward, elbows on his knees, nearly empty bottle held loosely between his fingers. "He's still got what, a year of school left?" Suddenly Nigel narrowed his eyes. "This is a lot of talk about and brooding over a boy you shagged once."

"Who said I'm brooding?" Bill challenged, eyes darting away, refusing to meet Nigel's gaze. After a moment, he sighed, knowing better than to play at evading with this particular friend; Nigel would crack him like a cheap hex. "I ran into him when I was home back in November and he found out where I was staying."

Oh no. Nigel sat back again. "Tell me you didn't fuck him again."

Bill held up his hand, silently ticking off the first four fingers, waggling them meaningfully.

Nigel's jaw actually dropped. "Four times? You fucked him four times? You were only there the weekend, Bill, that's got to be a record, even for you." Nigel knew his face showed his shock. "He must be a damn good fuck, especially for a teenager. Don't they just -" Nigel made an obscene wanking gesture twice with his hand "- and come?"

"The first time, yeah," Bill said, laughing. "But after that..." He lifted his eyebrows. "Well, he kept up with me. And, ah..." he coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "He didn't find me until late Saturday. And I sent him back where he belonged Sunday evening."

"Four times in a day?" Nigel's eyebrows went back up and he laughed again. "God, this just gets better and better." Nigel tossed back the last of his beer. "And you've been pining ever since. How sweet." Pushing himself up off the couch, Nigel crossed the room for more beer. "The cure is an adult with a wicked tongue and an eagerness to bend over for you. Which is why we should go out and you should stop hiding away in here." He grabbed another for Bill, too, and sauntered back to the couch. "Besides, all the boys miss you. They've had to settle for me instead."

"M'not pining," Bill grumbled, accepting the drink. He sighed, and reckoned it would be easier to just own up to it now. "Just saw him after Christmas, anyhow. Spent the week in London." He really was severely fucked, and Bill was starting to accept that. "And I tried your cure-all before. Didn't work, and even had to have a wank after a couple of them, they were that boring." He paused, cocking his head to the side, the room a bit fuzzy thanks to the four other beers he'd had before Nigel arrived. "Maybe fucking virgins makes you go straight?"

Nigel gave Bill the look _that_ deserved. "Having sudden cravings for breasts, then, are we?" he asked dryly. "Not if you fucked him for a week in London. A _week_ , Bill." Nigel just couldn't fathom it, and this whole situation was suddenly not funny at all. "He's sixteen," Nigel murmured again. "What in Merlin's name are you doing?"

Bill groaned and closed his eyes, pressing the cold glass bottle against his forehead. "I _thought_ we were just fucking," he said. "And I keep telling him to go out and find a boyfriend, but the stubborn little bastard won't listen to me. Just writes me these letters, says these things that are way older than sixteen, and then I just... give in and fuck him again."

"Why would he go find a boyfriend, Bill? It sounds like he already has one." Nigel shook his head. Putting his half empty bottle on the coffee table, Nigel stood again and crossed to the liquor cabinet. He needed something stronger than beer. "Do you want this?" he asked, holding up the bottle of firewhiskey he'd found.

"Fuck yes," Bill said. Him? Someone's _boyfriend_? He sat there in stunned silence until Nigel came back with the whiskey and a pair of glasses. _Boyfriend?_ It sounded so ridiculously childish... but then, considering the rest...

Nigel sat on the couch and, setting the glasses on the table, poured them both a generous drink. He picked his up and handed the other to Bill. "You're fucked, mate. You have a sixteen-year old boyfriend. I'm guessing you haven't shagged anyone since that week in London." Nigel raised both his glass and his eyebrow. "Letters, even? What exactly does he say in these letters?"

"I don't want a fucking boyfriend, much less one that young," Bill griped, sipping his drink and gladly moving on to relatively safer territory -- not, really, that there was any such thing when it came to Oliver, Bill was starting to understand. "He says he misses me, says his friend Angie thinks my brother Charlie's cute... then he talks about missing how it feels to ride my cock, how he wanks every damn night, thinking about me inside him, how my tongue and hands feel on him, how I taste, and how he can't wait until he sees me again so I can fuck him so hard he can't walk. Again." Shaking off the low-grade desire that just thinking about Oliver's letters brought, Bill looked over at Nigel again. "Sixteen-year olds don't _say_ shite like that."

"Apparently they do, if they've been fucked by Bill Weasley." Nigel shook his head again. "You must be even better in the sack than I thought. You've created a monster." Nigel hesitated then asked, "Are you in love with him?"

Bill glared at him for that, eyes narrowed bitterly. "I don't _do_ love," he said firmly. "Love is for other people, the sort who like to believe in happily ever afters all around. Love's just a fucking foolish romantic notion that people confuse with sex, tying the two together so we can have entire bloody _holidays_ dedicated to it. We're supposed to bind ourselves to another person that we're moderately attracted to and somewhat compatible with because of _love_? It's utter bollocks. Total shite, Nige... but, if I'm lucky, Oliver will find a nice queer boy his age who has a decent cock and actually buys into that rubbish, and then maybe I'll get some fucking peace and my life back."

"Right," Nigel said dryly. "Your bloody fascinating life of staring at the fire all weekend and refusing to come out with us." Nigel raised his glass and said idly, "I wonder how peaceful Azkaban will be, after you kill the other kid," before taking a swallow, eyes closing a bit in pleasure at the taste. "Fuck, you always have the good stuff."

"Comes with getting the good paychecks," Bill said, throwing a bottlecap at his friend. "And why would I kill some kid, anyhow?"

Nigel's eyebrow lifted again. "I can't imagine," he said blandly. He threw the bottlecap back.

"Smug bastard," Bill muttered, lips twitching as he fought a grin. "Comes by, drinks my alcohol, convinces me to date teenagers..."

"Oh, no," Nigel said, throwing another cap at Bill. "You did that all on your own, you aren't pinning it on me." His own lips twitched. "I'll own up to the alcohol, though." He lifted his glass in a mocking half-toast and drank rather obviously.

Bill kicked the sofa lazily. "Git. Just for that, I should go out tonight and make you buy all my drinks while I fuck the best catch in the place."

"Be glad to. Can I watch you wank after 'cause he's boring?" Nigel smirked and moaned, "Oh _Oliver_ ".

"You'll do anything to get a look at my cock, won't you?" Bill asked, reaching back and grabbing a throw pillow from the chair behind him and throwing it directly at Nigel's face.

Nigel easily deflected the pillow. He wasn't nearly as buzzed as Bill was. "Of course," he agreed, "I've yet to figure out what exactly the fuss is all about."

Bill leered at Nigel. "Lucky for you, it's expected of me to fool around." He sipped his drink, emptying the glass, and patted his thigh. "Well, come on then, Nige. I'm getting fair good at educating virgins."

Nigel laughed and choked on his drink again. "Fuck you," he snorted and coughed. "I wouldn't want to be on Oliver's bad side, he's my mate's boyfriend, you know. Besides," he added with a leer of his own, "I don't bottom."

"And neither do I," Bill sighed. "Pity." He managed to get onto his knees and shuffled over, snagging the bottle of whiskey and refilling their glasses. Rather than making the effort to go back over to where he'd been, Bill just leaned against the sofa, down near Nigel's feet. "What do you _do_ with a boyfriend besides fuck, anyhow?"

Nigel blinked. "I, er, don't know? Talk, I suppose. See a show, or take him to a match, since he likes Quidditch." He smiled just a bit wistfully. "Enjoy being together," he said, then shook his head at himself. "I don't think there's rules about it."

Sighing, Bill just sat there, drinking for a few moments before he spoke again. "I just... wanted him to have it easier than I did. I didn't think it would get so out of hand."

Suddenly it made a whole lot more sense. Not that Nigel had any better idea what to say. He really didn't think it was a good idea, and at the same time could tell that Bill was, if not wholly in love with the kid, well on the way. He reached down to squeeze Bill's shoulder. "He must be a great ki- guy. Just - be careful, yeah?"

"He's... unlike anyone I've ever met. Sometimes, I can't get over how young he is, and then he turns around and handles things so well that I'm blown away. And he doesn't let me brood, either." There was more to it than that; the way Oliver threw himself into things, his sense of humour, his ability to be wild and audacious in one breath and shy in the next... Bill laughed softly, almost bitterly and mostly at himself. "I'll be careful. Much as I can, anyhow," he promised, staring at the fire. Turning to face Nigel, Bill managed a ghost of a grin. "Thanks."

It was too late. Nigel could see it in Bill's face. All he said, though, was, "S'what mates are for, yeah? Now, since we aren't going dancing, let's get completely and properly pissed. I want _something_ to show for Friday night, even if it's just the hangover Saturday morning."

As far as Bill was concerned, Nigel not taking a prime opportunity to take the piss out on him about something was a Very Bad Sign. But, he reasoned, if he really was that well and truly fucked, he might as well celebrate by getting well and truly pissed. He saluted Nigel with his glass, and drank deeply. "It's a deal, then. Hangovers and sleeping late it is. And you can buy me more whiskey when we get paid, yeah?"

"Yeah." Nigel smiled. "So. When do I get to meet your kid?" He fought to keep the smirk off his face but was fairly sure he failed. "Er, I mean, your boyfriend. Of course."

Bill flipped two fingers at Nigel, but then shrugged. "Dunno, really. Depends on whether or not he's got Quidditch the next time we're up at the main office, I reckon. And I'm not so sure it's the best of ideas to sneak him into the clubs with us..." he trailed off with a groan, realising how he sounded.

Nigel laughed, hard. "No," he finally managed, "I don't think so. Although, if that's what it'll take to get you out clubbing again, I might see if I can find some sort of charm or potion to use on the kid for a night."

"Like seeing how great he'll look in a couple years is gonna help me get out of this mess?" Bill asked with a snort. He sipped and leaned his head back, eyes closed, a wicked smile on his face. "But he'd be brill in a pair of tight trousers."

"God, you've got it bad," Nigel said, shaking his head. He refilled their glasses, knowing he had a way to go to catch up to Bill if they were going to get completely pissed. He snorted. "It would be fun to watch you growl at everyone who stares at his backside for too long."

Bill lifted his head and slowly raised an eyebrow at that, the expression taking more effort than it should have. "Don't know where you get this idea that I'm possessive. I keep saying I want Ollie to find a kid his own fucking age, don't I?"

"Keep saying it long enough and you might just believe it." Nigel shrugged. "But fair enough. I don't know _how_ you'll react; you've never been this way about a bloke before." He leaned down to pat Bill's head.

"Fuck off," Bill said without any actual heat. "You're just jealous because you haven't got an energetic sex fiend that'll do anything you ask. _Anything_ ," he repeated, lifting both eyebrows meaningfully. "Even fuck in the train station loo."

Both Nigel's eyebrows went up and his eyes widened. "You did not." Yeah, he was jealous, but that didn't mean he would ever admit it to Bill. _Anything_?

"His spunk all over the wall and everything," Bill said, smirking. "Of course, I had him begging for my cock first, but he makes these hot little noises when he's desperate to be fucked, almost like he's already imagining how it feels when I'm first pushing in." The smirk spread. "Should have seen him the first time I sucked him; kid looked like he'd seen God, and the _sounds_... No one around here comes close to those sounds, Nige. They try, but when Ollie does it, it's because they're the only noises he can make, not because he's trying to be as fuckable as he is."

Nigel swallowed and opened the button of his shirt at his throat, suddenly a lot, er, _warmer_. "Really. Maybe I could listen in the next time you fuck him. He begged you to fuck him in the loo?" Nigel still couldn't quite fathom sex in a public toilet at the station. "Weren't there people _using_ it?"

Bill nodded, humming affirmatively. "And he still came nearly screaming my name." Of course, right after had been that dreadful confrontation with that arse, but that wasn't important to the fantasy. What was important was that even after it, Oliver thought it was brilliant. And had wanted more. Bill's jeans felt tight, and he shifted a bit, trying to relieve some of the pressure.

"Well." Nigel cleared his throat this time, but his voice still sounded slightly husky. "Perhaps I'm the one who should be trolling the schools. Does Oliver happen to have any brazen friends?" He saw Bill shift and smirked. Served him right, the bastard, gloating like this. Nigel took a healthy swallow of his drink.

"Not sure, unless you count this Angie he's mentioned," Bill said, lips twitching. "But she lacks certain _essential_ bits to be your type, and she's got a thing for my brother Charlie. But I can always ask. Maybe he knows a nice little fifteen-year old you can break in, but I can't promise he'll be as much a natural as Ollie is at rimming and sucking cock. Or as turned on just by doing it, either."

Nigel snorted and choked on his drink and smacked Bill in the back of the head. "You really are the luckiest bastard in the world, Weasley. Trust you to find a natural cocksucking bottom."

The grin on Bill's face spread, his eyes half-closed in self satisfaction. "He likes it when I leave him a little bit too tight, even," he added. "Not to gloat, or anything."

"You're trying to kill me, aren't you?" Nigel shifted, slouching down and adjusting himself. He tossed back the rest of his drink and then sat back up, leaning forward to fill his glass again.

Bill chuckled and held out his glass for a refill, concentrating much harder than he normally would have had to in holding it steady. "I think m'getting pissed, Nige," he said conversationally. "You catching up yet? It's got to be your turn to talk about a shag or _something_ before I forget that it's not supposed to be a good thing I'm all mixed up in this kid."

"Getting there." Nigel spilled a bit as he obligingly poured more in Bill's glass. "But I haven't a nearly as good a shag as your kid. Gonna let me have him once?" Nigel blinked; apparently he was closer than he'd thought, he hadn't meant to say that last bit out loud.

"Not a chance," Bill snorted. "Not only're you too old for him, but Ollie would likely be hacked off about it." He took healthy swallow, ignoring the tight knot of tension that filled his chest at Nigel's question that wouldn't have been a problem if they were talking about any of their other shags. "Says he wants it to mean something, whatever that means."

"I," Nigel said with the quiet dignity of someone truly drunk, "am younger than you are." He drank again. "And it always means something, means you're getting laid." With a mournful sigh Nigel added, "But if he doesn't want to, it wouldn't be any fun. Why do you have the damnedest luck? S'not fair, is what." With another truly mournful sigh, Nigel slouched back again to finish his drink. Really it wasn't fair at all.

"You," Bill countered, pointing at Nigel with the hand currently holding his drink, "are too old for him. So am I." It was his turn to sigh.

"But you're fucking him anyway." Nigel gave Bill a sullen look, which quickly brightened, almost comically so. "Bill," he whispered earnestly. "Bill, we should go visit him! You can see him and stop moping and he can introduce me to one of his friends and I can stop moping too!" Nigel was absolutely sure this was the right thing to do, the best idea he'd had in simply _ages_. And maybe he could convince Oliver to give him a go after all.

Bill was tempted. Oliver would be happy to see him, he was sure of it, and Bill could ask him if Nigel was right and Bill really was his boyfriend. And Nigel could see that Bill hadn't been making anything up, and that Oliver really _was_ that amazing... But then everything would change if they did that, and someone was bound to see them, and that would be a real problem. Bill shook his head slowly, the room moving a bit slower than his vision.

"Dunno... Not so sure that's a good idea," he said. "The school... dodgy things've been going on, so security's tight, you know?"

"Oh." Nigel was nonplussed. Then he beamed. "But we're _curse breakers_ Bill, we can do it!" Nigel leaned forward earnestly and then paused, distracted by his empty glass and the bottle on the coffee table. He was sure he'd just filled his glass... Shrugging he filled it again, although there seemed to be a lot more on the table than there should have been. He concentrated and got the glass filled. "We can do it."

Watching Nigel spill a sizeable amount of his good whiskey, Bill laughed. "You couldn't hex a straight line right now if your cock depended on it, mate," he said, head lolling back against the cushions. "Maybe when we're sober. Or this summer, if Ollie's not tired of me by then and got a bloke his own age, yeah?"

"I could," Nigel protested indignantly. He shifted to shove Bill again but the room spun. "I could." Okay, maybe not right now. He closed his eyes and rested back against the couch. That was better, in the dark. "If we wait until summer he won't have a classmate to give me," Nigel said reasonably. "We'll have to go sooner."

"We can go sooner, just not now," Bill said, shifting unsteadily and putting his once-more empty glass on the table before climbing up onto the couch next to Nigel. Somehow, he managed to get them into a companionable sort of cuddle, eyes closed as he leaned against his friend. "M'pissed as a fucking newt and couldn't stand now if you asked me to." Still, the idea of seeing Oliver again was a nice one, and Bill wondered when he'd started missing the kid.

Nigel sighed and leaned into Bill. It was nice; he wasn't going to fall over sideways now. "Bill," he asked, "what's a newt? Are they pissed? 'Member we used 'em in potions..." His voice trailed off. "Never knew."

Bill shrugged carefully. Nigel felt nice, but not quite right and he was having trouble getting comfortable. "It's a lizard... _thing_ ," he said. "Smallish. Eats bugs, I think. But they were always pretty pickled when they weren't dry, so maybe they get newts pissed before making them into potions ingredients?"

Nigel shrugged too. "You're the one who said they were pissed." He shifted as Bill did, and got an elbow into Bill's ribs. "Hold still, the room's moving."

"Bugger." He got an arm around Nigel, trying to steady them both, but the room kept moving anyhow. "Maybe we should lie down 'till it stops?"

"Okay." Nigel didn't move, though. "I think I might have a bit of a sleep first."

Confused, Bill just sort of dragged Nigel down with him, stretching them out on the couch. "Here's good as any," he murmured, snuggling close.

"Ohhhhh," Nigel dragged out the word. "Lie on the couch. Okay." He relaxed into Bill. "Still spinning," he mumbled. It was okay though. He didn't mind the floaty feeling that went with it. "So drunk."

"Me too," Bill said, a heavy arm draped over Nigel. "I've got you, though," he said as gallantly as he could manage. The words reminded him of how he'd say that to Oliver when he got overwhelmed by how good everything felt, and Bill sighed, suddenly lonely. "Miss 'im," he whispered. "Don't tell, yeah?"

Nigel patted Bill's arm. "Won't tell," he promised. "Tol' you, your boyfriend. Should tell him though."

Bill grunted, but not really in agreement. "Maybe," he finally said, voice small and miserable even as he slowly drifted off to sleep. "Can say tol' me so in morning, yeah?"

"Yeah," Nigel agreed. He enjoyed the floaty a little while longer and then he too slid into sleep. _I told you so._

~*~*~*~

The entire Great Hall was filled with energy. Everyone knew that what today was, even without all the pink and hearts and those strange little Cupids running about the place, and girls kept darting glances at boys, who looked about shiftily in return. There were a few boys looking at each other, and a few girls doing the same, Angie noticed this year. She wondered if it had always been like this, and she just hadn't noticed until now because of Oliver. Either way, she still sniffed at the over-use of pink even as she carefully tucked away another card next to the one she'd gotten from Lee just that morning. She knew that later on in the dorm, she and the other girls would compare their hauls, and even a card from Lee could help then. It was lunchtime already, and she only had four cards so far, after all.

Next to her, Oliver was quietly poking at his food, and Angie leaned into him, squeezing his knee comfortingly. Privately, she was beginning to doubt that this bloke of his was worth all the love Oliver was giving him, especially since he'd forgotten _Valentine's Day_ , but after the past few months, Angie was pretty sure it wouldn't do any good to say as much to her friend. Instead, she pulled out a small box of chocolates from her school bag, another gift from Lee, and put one of the sweets on the edge of Oliver's plate, giving him a small smile.

"Thanks," Oliver mumbled, managing a smile for Angie. He abandoned lunch and just ate the chocolate instead. After swallowing, he said, "Look at them," and waved his hand at a couple of seventh years making out in the corner. " _They_ get to sit there and, and..." Oliver waved again, unable to find quite the right words for the display of affection before them. "And I haven't even seen him in _months_." Well, six weeks or so, but it felt like years. He started poking at his food again for lack of anything else to do. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I just miss him a lot."

Angie sighed and leant her head on his shoulder. "I know you do," she said just as quietly. "Now quick, look like you're comforting me before people start to think you might actually have a heart besides Quidditch." She looked up and grinned at Oliver just in time to see a strange owl swoop into the hall, headed their way. "That's odd," she mused. "Post doesn't usually come this late."

Oliver laughed, but he slid his arm around her shoulders as they watched the owl come closer. It was definitely headed for them. "Who's sending you a secret owl?" he teased, "Do _you_ have a boyfriend you haven't told _me_ about?" Then the owl dropped the card in front of Oliver and his heart stopped. He tore open the envelope, then dug in his bag for owl treats. He knew he had some in there; he'd been needing them a lot more since he'd been writing to Bill. Finding a handful, he piled them on the table for the owl, who gave him a strange look but took some and flew away. Oliver didn't notice. He was too busy slowly sliding the card out of the envelope. It was a plain red card with strong black letters slashing across it. _Happy Valentine's Day, gorgeous. Miss me too?_

Oliver couldn't have stopped the grin from splitting his face if his life had depended on it. "Look!" he said to Angie who'd been reading over his shoulder. "Look what he wrote!"

"Oh my _god_ ," Angie breathed, quivering with excitement. "Oh my god, Oliver! He's so..."

"Who?"

"Who's what? And what'd he write, Wood?"

Angie lifted her eyes to see Fred and George looking at them expectantly, eyebrows raised in that familiar way that meant they smelled some juicy gossip. Only now it was about Angie's best mate and the twins' older brother, and she couldn't see it going anywhere good. "None of your business," she sniffed, grabbing the card from Oliver's hands. Ducking under the table to grab her bag, she pulled out one of the earlier valentines, switched hands, and shoved the one from Bill at Oliver before making a show of stuffing the fake one in her bag. "Keep your long freckled noses in your own business."

" _Everything_ 's our business. Isn't that so, George?"

"Right you are, Fred. _Everything_. Who wrote what?"

Oliver patted Angie's leg under the table. She'd tried, but this was Fred and George. "He, er, Deverill. Just sent me a note saying Puddlemere's been scouting me. He said don't get injured, and he wants me to spend a week with them during training this summer." All of which was true, but something that would have had him dancing in the halls just months ago was overshadowed now by the fact that Bill was in ruddy _Egypt_ and he was stuck in Scotland.

Jumping onto the story before Fred and George could even think to doubt it, Angie hit Oliver on the shoulder. "Don't _tell_ people, you git! What if you put a jinx on it?" Oliver had told her about the offer a week before, actually, and his reasoning for keeping things quiet had been just that, something Angie could understand completely. She'd played Quidditch with blokes who wouldn't let the House Elves near their lucky socks if they thought it would help. She turned on Fred and George, eyes narrowed. "If you two tell _anyone_ , I'll kick your sorry freckled arses from here to the Pitch and back again. Got it?"

Oliver had to smile, both at Angie's vehemence and at the shock on the twins' faces. He'd certainly pulled the right story out of his arse; Quidditch was one thing those two would understand. "Sorry," he said to Angie, "I know, but it's _Quidditch_." He raised an eyebrow slightly. _Thanks_.

"God, I _know_ ," Angie said, biting her lip in excitement, thinking about what the valentine had said. "I can't believe he wrote... God, Wood, you're the luckiest git in the whole bloody world, do you know that?"

Oliver fought to keep his grin from going soft; he was thinking of Bill too. "I know, I can't believe it myself." He looked at the twins and said, "You know what this means, don't you?"

"More practise," they groaned in unison.

"Exactly," Oliver said with satisfaction. "Tomorrow morning before breakfast. No, make it day after. I need to make sure I catch everyone to tell them, so no one misses a minute."

"And here we thought you might actually have a life, Wood."

"Looks like we were wrong, Fred. C'mon then; let's go find some valentines to liberate."

As the twins stood and wandered off, Angie was fairly vibrating next to Oliver. "That was close," she whispered. And then, "Gorgeous?"

Oliver went bright red, but he whispered, "Sometimes he calls me that in bed." He watched the twins as they moved through the Great Hall. They were Weasleys, but they weren't Bill. Their hair wasn't quite the right shade, and their shoulders not nearly as broad, or backs as long, or arses anywhere near as perfect. Oliver sighed and looked back down at his plate. "I should write him back," he said, "I didn't send him anything for today."

Humming in agreement, Angie started cleaning up the bits of envelope that had flown about when Oliver opened the valentine. Some writing on what would have been the inside of the flap caught her eye.

 _11 tonight. Front stairs._

"Oliver?" she said as mildly as she could, pushing the scrap of paper along the table. "I think you might be able to take care of that after all."

Oliver gave her a strange look and then took the paper she had pushed at him. His eyes widened and went blank. "He's coming," he whispered in disbelief. Now he was the one fair vibrating. He looked at Angie, eyes still wide. "Tonight, he's, he's coming." He grinned and sort of bounced where he sat. "I can't believe it." He threw his arms around Angie and hugged her, the precious scrap of paper held tight in his fist.

Angie squeezed him back. Bill Weasley had, in the space of a few minutes, completely redeemed himself in her eyes. He was _here_ , he remembered Valentine's, and she hadn't seen Oliver this happy since before the Christmas hols. Grinning, she stood and pulled Oliver up with her. "Come along, then," she said, her dark eyes dancing. "Let's skip revision and go flying!"

"Yeah, alright," Oliver grinned back at her. "I couldn't concentrate on charms anyway. And no, you can't ride the Nimbus."

"Oh, fine," she said, and stuck her tongue out at him. "I'll let you ride your precious _stick_ on your own," she added, smirking as she shoved him lightly and took off for Gryffindor to get her broom and change clothes, laughing at her own joke all the way.


End file.
